Persued
His aquiline nose twitching, eyes lidded, and thin lips forced into a smile, the man faced Morien and said, “You would not have happened to notice a lad of about seventeen with black greasy hair pass by here a day or so ago?”
“Many lads pass through the Seventh Star fitting that vague description,” Morien replied. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Sir.”
The strange man frowned and slowly unrolled a parchment. It was a rough sketch of a boy with a mischievous grin and dancing eyes. Morien took the paper and raised his brow. “His name is Aeron,” the man said. “He may go by the name Faran. Did you notice any money missing or anything of that ilk.”
Morien gazed at the paper and said, “Yes, I’ve seen him. He went up to Rohan with some others. A girl and two men. One of whom is a ranger .”
The man nodded and said, “Thank you, Morien.” He tossed a plump velvet bag, turned on his heel, and stalked from the Inn. Waiting upon a sable stallion, was a bean-pole of a man. His bald pate was bound in a black cloth, a single ring, crowned with sapphires, circled his finger, and his right arm was carefully hidden behind a black cloak. His right hand was missing, severed from his body by a Haradrim blade.
“Any news of him?” the merchant asked.
The strange man nodded, and vaulted to the back of his bay. With a clatter of hooves, they left the town.
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